This past Sunday I was in the grocery store, silently bitching about the '80s party music that Publix has been obsessively playing the past month.

That wasn't all I was annoyed about. For the past few weeks I'd been losing and gaining the same 3 pounds; this weekend I was on the uptick of the yo-yo. I passed the blood pressure machine and sat down for a reading (not a smart thing to do when you're walking around pissed off).

The words "something drastic" popped into my head, as in "I"ve gotta do something drastic to get the weight off right now before something bad happens."

Every now and then the idea of weight-loss surgery crosses my brain but I'm a borderline candidate for it. Too thin! Ha!

But I'd like to go through the intensive kind of mind-body gruntwork that successful weight-loss surgery patients go through. I've seen too many acquaintances have WLS only to have the weight pile back on after about 5 minutes of success.

Cleveland Clinic Florida has a Non-Surgical Weight Loss Program that addresses the head as well as the saddlebags. It's an intensive nine-week program where you meet with a dietitian and a psychologist weekly, first one-on-one, then in a group setting.

That would be my "something drastic" I decided in the blood-pressure machine chair.

I immediately felt better, and as I got up and started tooling around the grocery store, another '80s pop song came on overhead -- This is the Day by The The.

This is the day your life will surely change.
This is the day when things fall into place.

"You got that right, New Wave '80s British dude," I thought and hummed the song the rest of the day.

First thing Monday, I called Cleveland Clinic and got the ball rolling. I got an Rx for bloodwork, which is required of the program, as well as an OK by your primary care doctor. I do all my medical stuff at CC so this wasn't a problem.

"We have your bloodwork prescription ready. Should we mail it to your house?"

Oh heck no.

I jumped in the car, picked it up and made a lab appointment for Tuesday morning. The first available appointment was 11 a.m. Tuesday, so I sucked it up (and sucked down a ton of water yesterday morning) and got my blood drawn, while hallucinating about omelets.

This morning, after a particularly inspiring Turbo Jam workout, I called the weight-loss program head back and told her I had my bloodwork done yesterday. She rifled through some papers, said she had it and penciled me in for next Wednesday.

... All while the doorbell has been ringing all day with UPS and FedEx shipments of diet cookies, superfood miracle juice, books and other items that companies send to me to write about.

Yes, I'm sure your products are tasty and effective and cute and informative, and perhaps I'll write about them, but right now I have a plan.

I am so sick of being fat and want this stuff off so bad that I've lost a couple pounds since Sunday just from giddiness (and not eating at night).

Comments

This past Sunday I was in the grocery store, silently bitching about the '80s party music that Publix has been obsessively playing the past month.

That wasn't all I was annoyed about. For the past few weeks I'd been losing and gaining the same 3 pounds; this weekend I was on the uptick of the yo-yo. I passed the blood pressure machine and sat down for a reading (not a smart thing to do when you're walking around pissed off).

The words "something drastic" popped into my head, as in "I"ve gotta do something drastic to get the weight off right now before something bad happens."

Every now and then the idea of weight-loss surgery crosses my brain but I'm a borderline candidate for it. Too thin! Ha!

But I'd like to go through the intensive kind of mind-body gruntwork that successful weight-loss surgery patients go through. I've seen too many acquaintances have WLS only to have the weight pile back on after about 5 minutes of success.

Cleveland Clinic Florida has a Non-Surgical Weight Loss Program that addresses the head as well as the saddlebags. It's an intensive nine-week program where you meet with a dietitian and a psychologist weekly, first one-on-one, then in a group setting.

That would be my "something drastic" I decided in the blood-pressure machine chair.

I immediately felt better, and as I got up and started tooling around the grocery store, another '80s pop song came on overhead -- This is the Day by The The.

This is the day your life will surely change.
This is the day when things fall into place.

"You got that right, New Wave '80s British dude," I thought and hummed the song the rest of the day.

First thing Monday, I called Cleveland Clinic and got the ball rolling. I got an Rx for bloodwork, which is required of the program, as well as an OK by your primary care doctor. I do all my medical stuff at CC so this wasn't a problem.

"We have your bloodwork prescription ready. Should we mail it to your house?"

Oh heck no.

I jumped in the car, picked it up and made a lab appointment for Tuesday morning. The first available appointment was 11 a.m. Tuesday, so I sucked it up (and sucked down a ton of water yesterday morning) and got my blood drawn, while hallucinating about omelets.

This morning, after a particularly inspiring Turbo Jam workout, I called the weight-loss program head back and told her I had my bloodwork done yesterday. She rifled through some papers, said she had it and penciled me in for next Wednesday.

... All while the doorbell has been ringing all day with UPS and FedEx shipments of diet cookies, superfood miracle juice, books and other items that companies send to me to write about.

Yes, I'm sure your products are tasty and effective and cute and informative, and perhaps I'll write about them, but right now I have a plan.

I am so sick of being fat and want this stuff off so bad that I've lost a couple pounds since Sunday just from giddiness (and not eating at night).